The road itself is truly limited in its distance but hardly less purposeful than those that surround it. The road is lined with oak trees, and white fences to keep the horses confined and off of the road, limited in its distance, and limitless in its purpose. I pull my little car off to the side of the road, turn off the engine, exit my car, and walk slowly toward the little stone wall lining the shoulder, lift one leg over, followed by the other, and catch myself with my cane. I pull the letter out of my back pocket and read it once more for reassurance, or maybe just to continue this few moments with the thought in the back of my mind that this all may just be an illusion. Spring is just around the corner, and the mixture of the sun on my face and the brisk breeze flows around my skin. My nose tingles.
Leaves blow across the road and the only sounds interrupting the silence are the hooves of the horses dancing around their enclosure and a motorbike in the distance. I awkwardly try to keep my balance on the dirt and rocks below me, and make my way over to the far side of the coral. I lay my shoulder bag next to the oak tree and carefully search for carving that Tal had once described.
"Follow the dirt road that circles the lake, take a right at the old barn, and just keep going dead straight until you reach the horse coral. On the far side of the fence sits a lonely oak tree where I carved my initials when I was just a kid. I buried something in that spot. If anything is to happen to me, I want you to have it."
I remembering trying to ease the mood by laughing it off, and making some comment about cliches. But, here I am, sitting under this stereotypical love tree, digging for messages from a life ended too soon. Maybe the basis of comparison is skewed. Maybe we just live too long.
I lean my cane against the tree and slowly lower myself to my knees, and begin digging with the hand shovel that I brought with me. As the shovel sinks into the earth, each scoop my curiosity growing and heart racing, I feel the steel hit something hard. I toss the shovel aside and begin to dig with my hands, carefully removing the soil from around the sides of the box. I remove it from the earth and brush off the lid. I unhook the latch, and as the rusty hinges grind together, I open it.